


Build Up the Suspense a Little

by WrongRemedy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cockblocking, Frottage, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongRemedy/pseuds/WrongRemedy
Summary: One of the Erikas comes to stay with Carlos and Cecil while Old Woman Josie's house is undergoing renovations. Erika, unfortunately, has a tendency to show up at the worst of times, resulting in frustration for Cecil.





	Build Up the Suspense a Little

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smilingsarah10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingsarah10/gifts).



> Sarah didn’t ask me directly to write this, and the idea came to me on my own, but she did at one point not-so-subtly imply that her life in the Cecilos fandom would be greatly improved if I were to write them, so this is for her.
> 
> I wanted to keep a healthy dose of the pure weirdness that is Night Vale in this while also having the main plot point be “get them to the sex”, so I hope the style works for everyone. This really doesn’t fit anywhere specific in canon at all. There are aspects from very early episodes but also references to Carlos and Cecil living together and being married, so… *handwave*
> 
> This is my first WTNV fic even though I’ve been listening to the podcast from almost the start.
> 
> Title from ‘Jerusalem’ by Dan Bern because after all these years it’s still my favorite Night Vale weather report of all time.

Cecil generally considers himself a kind and good person. He donates regularly to several pre-approved and government-sponsored charities, helps elderly Night Vale residents limited to only two (or fewer) arms carry their groceries, and does his best to make sure that he conveys information on his radio show that will truly benefit the community he loves.

Lately, however, he has been questioning just how much of a kind and good person he truly is. After all; a kind and good person would be _happy_ to have opened their home (albeit involuntarily and without prior knowledge or consent) to one of the Erikas. A kind and good person would consider it a heartwarming good deed to have spent the last week (that's _seven and 1/6ths whole days_ his brain reminds him through thankfully metaphorical gritted teeth) housing one of the celestial creatures that Old Woman Josie calls angels (and that the City Council calls nonexistent) while Old Woman Josie's home out by the car lot is renovated.

Instead of feeling any of these positive things about the situation - as a kind and good person would - Cecil is feeling primarily frustrated, with undertones of anger, annoyance, and molecular redistribution. (Though that last one may have less to do with Erika than with the new shampoo he's been using).

The problem is that Erika has a habit of showing up exactly wherever and whenever Cecil is contemplating doing anything more scandalous than simply existing in the same room as Carlos. Thoughts of kissing or touching or otherwise debauching Carlos the way he’s become accustomed to ever since they moved in together (and even more so since they got married) are immediately followed by Erika materializing and completely derailing his plans before they’ve even had time to fully form.

Cecil has considered calling Old Woman Josie at Jackie Fierro’s house and asking her if _all_ the Erikas are somehow psychically drawn to thoughts of mortal impurity or if he and Carlos managed to be the lucky couple stuck with the only chronically-cockblocking supernatural figure in Night Vale, but thought better of it.

_Hopefully it won’t be much longer_ , Cecil thinks as Erika sits down directly between him and Carlos on their couch because Cecil had contemplated putting a hand on Carlos’s thigh. _Hopefully._

~*~

Cecil gazes across the dining room table at Carlos, carefully cutting his cooked carrots into perfect, bite-sized pieces before bringing them neatly to his (beautiful, wonderful, amazing) mouth one by one. Carlos doesn’t seem to notice him staring; or he’s so used to it that he’s become very good at pretending he doesn’t notice. Either way, Cecil clears his throat to say something like “you look lovely this evening, darling” or “if I have to watch you eat one more carrot I’m going to jump across this table and perform acts of great, sweeping passion upon your majestic body”, but before he has the chance, the chair at the end of the table to Cecil’s right is suddenly occupied by a blinding black light and the sound of a distant ocean roaring, and then not-so-suddenly occupied by Erika. Interrupting them. Again. Cecil breathes very deeply and carefully through his nose, barely controlling his temper. Carlos is, apparently, infuriatingly, having no such trouble.

“Oh, hello Erika!” Carlos greets brightly, smiling wide and waving his fork in Erika’s direction.

“Good evening, Carlos,” Erika says, though their mouth does not move. Do they even have a mouth? It’s hard to tell from moment to moment, sometimes. “Cecil,” Erika greets, turning in Cecil’s direction and nodding their head.

“Erika,” Cecil returns, aware that he sounds less than pleased to see them, but since it’s after 2 p.m., he’s unable to retract the word after it has left his mouth and re-issue it with a different tone. _Oh well_ , Cecil thinks. _What’s said is said_.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” Erika says, even though they’re clearly interrupting dinner.

“Not at all!” says Carlos, and Cecil reminds himself firmly that killing your partner is counterproductive to a long and healthy relationship, not to mention messy and frowned upon by most members of society.

The rest of their dinner passes mostly in silence, with some short discussion of goings-on at Carlos’s lab or Cecil’s station. Erika does not speak for the rest of the meal, but does continue to sit in the chair at the end of the table, motionless and occasionally emitting a low vibrating sound, until it’s time to clear the dishes and they offer to lend a hand by “thinking them into cleanliness and storage with the great heavenly powers of my mind.”

Cecil accepts the help, but privately decides it does not make up for the intrusion and the fact that he and Carlos haven’t had any alone time since Erika arrived.

~*~

“I mean, don’t get me _wrong_ , listeners. I’m not saying you should _never_ let someone stay in your home, that would just be rude and selfish. I’m simply advising that if you’re going to entertain houseguests for an extended period of time, you should not be afraid to establish some ground rules. Let them know that while they are welcome there, it is still _your_ house and that there are certain rights you are accustomed to enjoying, such as, oh, I don’t know, the use of the tv between the hours of 6 and 8 pm on Fridays and the chance to have intimate, tender moments with your husband in your own home, damn it, it’s just not _fair_.”

Cecil breaks off his on-air monologue, panting slightly and becoming slowly aware that his hands are balled into fists and station management has started to shift uncomfortably - or perhaps warningly - behind the glass door to their office. He sits up, straightens his tie and smooths his hair before continuing in his brightest voice.

“And that, dear listeners, concludes our section on Editorials That I Definitely Did Not Write Myself, and That Definitely Are Not Drawn In Any Way From Real Life Experiences That I, Cecil, Have Actually Had. I take you now...to the weather.”

He presses a button and waits for the soft strains of the weather report to filter through his headset before thumping his head on his desk with a groan. Just as he contemplates heading to the station’s Bloodstone Circle to perform a ritual vanishing and remove himself from the mortal plane to escape his frustration and embarrassment, his cell phone begins to play Belinda Carlisle’s ‘Heaven on Earth’, his Carlos-specific ringtone. His head snaps up.

“Hello?” he says into the phone, making sure to double check how much time is left in the weather report before he answers. “Carlos? You know I’m working, honey, is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, I’m sorry to call you at work,” Carlos responds, and Cecil breathes a sigh of relief. “I just wanted to let you know that Erika and I were listening to your broadcast just now and...well, they left. They said something about not realizing that their presence was causing you so much distress, and going to live with John Peters, you know, the farmer, instead.”

“Oh,” Cecil says, equally surprised and mortified. _My inability to control my own desires has driven an innocent creature from my home_ , he thinks. “My inability to control my own desires has driven an innocent creature from my home,” he says out loud to Carlos. Carlos sighs.

“Don’t beat yourself up, babe. It was kind of flattering hearing that you missed being alone with me so badly.

Cecil smiles at that even though he still feels pretty bad about Erika.

“How about I come by the station after your show and we stop by John Peters’ house to make sure there are no hard feelings with Erika?” Carlos proposes.

“Yes, I think we should do exactly that,” Cecil agrees. “You always have the perfect solutions, Carlos. It is only one of the millions upon millions of reasons that I love you so.”

“I love you too, Cecil,” Carlos says, causing Cecil’s tattoos to glow bright purple like they always do when he’s feeling especially pleased.

“Oh, the weather’s ending, I have to go. I’ll see you after the show!” Cecil says quickly.

“Goodbye! Have a good broadcast!” Carlos says, and Cecil hangs up the phone and slides his headset back on feeling better than he has in over a week.

~*~

The trip to John Peters, you know, the farmer’s house goes much more quickly and smoothly than Cecil envisioned.

Several times on the drive over, Cecil contemplates various methods of escaping the inevitable conversation with Erika, including moving to Desert Bluffs and changing his identity, or simply astral projecting out of the vehicle and living the remainder of his life as a bodiless entity flying high above Night Vale. However, these ideas are discarded when he remembers that Desert Bluffs is _disgusting_ and that there are already so many Night Vale citizens living exclusively in the astral plane that he really wouldn’t be escaping anything anyway.

Erika answers the front door when they knock, and before Cecil can voice any part of an apology, Erika places an oddly warm but somehow strikingly cold...hand? over Cecil’s mouth to prevent him from speaking.

“I know why you have come,” Erika pronounces, voice seeming to surround them on all sides rather than coming directly from the figure in front of them. “And no apology is necessary. As a being of burning holy light and divine intelligence, I should have been more aware of the feelings evoked by my actions. There is no wrong in seeking human companionship, Cecil Palmer. No shame in desiring the loving embrace of a dear and treasured companion in the midst of this loveless, drifting universe. I only regret that I prevented you from experiencing such joy for so long a time before I became aware of your struggle.”

Erika’s voice fades into a high but quiet ringing, and the sensation of physical pressure on Cecil’s face subsides.

“Farewell, Cecil and Carlos,” Erika says, “Go forth and revel in the sanctity of your shared home, as you have been unable to since my arrival. And please feel free to stop by Josie’s house for dinner and invisible pie once the renovations are complete.”

With that, Erika closes the door of John Peters’ house, leaving Carlos and Cecil standing outside in silence.

“Well,” Carlos says after a few seconds comprising a small eternity in another world. He moves closer to Cecil until they are pressed together, Carlos’s front along Cecil’s back. His arms wrap around Cecil’s body and he kisses Cecil’s shoulder through the fabric of his starched white work shirt before speaking against Cecil’s ear. “I believe an angel just ordered us to go home and have sex. I, for one, don’t feel inclined to disobey, do you?”

Cecil lets out a shuddering breath before turning abruptly to face Carlos. He sees the bright purple glow of his eyes reflected in Carlos’s glasses, as sure a sign as any that he’s aroused. Carlos smirks when he sees it.

“Let’s go,” Cecil says decisively. They run back to the car.

~*~

When they return home, their apartment is blessedly free of life forms other than themselves (or at least ones that are detectable with their existing senses) for the first time in over a week, and the happiness that fills Cecil is so all-consuming he almost feels as though he could weep. He doesn’t, though. Instead he slams the front door behind them, weaves his hands into Carlos’s dark, flowing hair, and pulls him in for what is definitely one of the top five most passionate kisses of their relationship.

“Bedroom, Cecil,” Carlos manages, despite the desperate press of their mouths. They stumble their way in the suggested direction without breaking contact with one another, and once there, Carlos plants his hands on Cecil’s chest and pushes backwards until there is a small amount of space between their bodies. Cecil pouts, and Carlos leans in to place another small kiss on his frowning lips.

“Clothes,” Carlos reminds with a gentle smile, removing his glasses and beginning to work open the buttons on his shirt. Cecil thinks he has never heard a more brilliant idea in his entire life, and removes his own clothing as swiftly as possible while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on Carlos as more and more of his smooth, dark skin is revealed.

Once the last of their clothing his the floor, Carlos reaches for Cecil again, reeling him in by the arm and kissing him until Cecil feels breathless and begins to rub himself shamelessly against Carlos’s body, searching out the friction and heat he’s been missing.

“Patience, Cecil,” Carlos soothes, laughing a little. “We have all night, love.”

Cecil blinks heavily, biting his lip. “I...I don’t think I’m going to last very long,” he admits quietly. Carlos just smiles again. His teeth are still, as always, like a military cemetery.

“That’s okay too,” he assures, guiding Cecil towards their bed and encouraging him to lay down on his back so that Carlos can drape himself over him, blanketing him from chest to toes with the firmness of his body. “How about just this tonight?” Carlos asks, slowly rocking his hips down so that his erection slides alongside Cecil’s, sending a sparking thrill up Cecil’s spine.

“Yessss…” Cecil breathes, his tattoos and eyes casting a neon purple glow in the dark of their bedroom and painting Carlos in bright, ethereal light above him.

“You’re beautiful,” Cecil says, only Carlos says it at the exact same time, and they smile again and kiss again and again as they continue the overwhelmingly wonderful grind of their bodies against one another.

“Are you close?” Carlos asks, and Cecil knows he means _will you be coming soon?_ but his mind and his heart answer a different question entirely - chorusing a joyful _yes, I am close, closer than I have been in what feels like a lifetime, as close as I want to remain for eternity_.

“Yes,” he says out loud, his hands slipping endlessly over the sweet sheen of sweat on Carlos’s back as he struggles to move faster, more firmly, though it is difficult from the bottom.

Carlos, thankfully, knows Cecil in every way a person can be known, and changes the pace until Cecil cries out, covering their stomachs. The distant sound of a lightbulb shattering in another room accompanies Cecil’s release, and Carlos buries his face against Cecil’s neck and thrusts once, twice, three times more before following Cecil over the edge and collapsing off to lay next to Cecil on their pillows. Cecil rolls onto his side and snuggles close, tracing patterns on Carlos’s chest and stomach in the shapes of hearts, smiley faces, and several varieties of desert cacti. Carlos sighs happily at the attention, reaching over to the nightstand to retrieve his glasses and put them back on.

“Do you think we made up for your week of suffering?” Carlos asks with a grin, and Cecil rolls his eyes (returned now to their usual black, no trace of purple left now that he has been sated).

“My week of suffering can only be made up for with a week of your love,” Cecil responds, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously. Carlos laughs, and Cecil’s heart (metaphorically) melts, and in the corner of the bedroom, unnoticed by the both of them, several new flowers bloom on their favorite potted houseplant.

“You have my love even when we have celestial house guests who prevent us from acting on it physically,” Carlos tells him, lacing their fingers together and bringing Cecil’s hand up to his mouth to kiss.

“And you have mine,” Cecil sighs in return, settling down onto his own pillow and closing his eyes contentedly, ready to sleep the night through in his husband’s arms. “Until the sun above us expands to an exponential degree, and burns all existing life on our tiny, insignificant planet to a crisp and unidentifiable dust.”

A beat of silence follows, and then Carlos’s voice.

“Cecil?”

“Mmm...yes Carlos?” Cecil murmurs sleepily.

“Remember what I said about not discussing the inevitable destruction of the planet when we’re in bed?”

Cecil cracks an eye open and purses his lips guiltily.

“Nooooo?” he responds, knowing Carlos will never be fooled by the tone but hoping for a pass regardless. Carlos sighs, and Cecil smiles in victory.

“Alright, alright,” Carlos says. “Because you’ve had such a trying week, I’ll let it go this time.”

“Love you more than anything,” Cecil says, snuggling as close as possible. He feels Carlos kiss the top of his head.

“Goodnight, Cecil,” Carlos murmurs low, his voice a home and harbor. “Goodnight.”


End file.
